By Babafemi Ojudu
Few issues in contemporary Nigeria command as much consensus as the need to improve security. Across the country, citizens live with fear. Farmers are afraid to go to their farms. Traders worry about travelling on our highways. Parents fear for their children. Communities once known for peace now sleep with one eye open.
The other day, I had important business in Ile-Ife, barely two hours from my base. Yet it took me three days of reflection and hesitation to summon the courage to embark on that journey. That simple experience speaks volumes about the condition of our country. It is therefore not surprising that the call for state police has grown louder. Many Nigerians see it as the logical response to a security architecture that appears overstretched, underfunded, and too centralized to effectively address the challenges of a vast and diverse federation. At first glance, the argument is compelling.
Nigeria, with a population exceeding 220 million people, is policed by a single national force directed largely from Abuja. Criminals operate locally. They know the terrain, the language, the forests, the escape routes, and often the weaknesses of the communities they prey upon. Yet the response to these threats frequently comes through a centralized structure that struggles to adapt quickly to local realities. A police commissioner posted from one end of the country to another may possess professional competence, but he may lack intimate knowledge of the language, culture, geography, and social dynamics of the area he is expected to secure.
In theory, state police offers a solution.
A governor in Ekiti should be able to deploy officers rapidly to emerging trouble spots without waiting for directives from Abuja. A police officer recruited from the local community is more likely to know the forests, villages, footpaths, and criminal networks than someone encountering them for the first time. Intelligence gathering becomes easier. Response times improve. Accountability becomes more direct because citizens know exactly which authority to hold responsible. These are powerful arguments.
Indeed, many successful federations operate some form of decentralized policing. In the United States, law enforcement exists at federal, state, county, and municipal levels. Canada and Australia similarly allow substantial provincial and state involvement in policing. The underlying principle is straightforward: security challenges are often local and are best addressed locally. Nigeria can certainly benefit from that logic. But there is another side to the conversation.
History teaches us that every institution created to solve a problem carries within it the potential to create a new one. Power is rarely dangerous at birth. Its danger emerges when adequate restraints are absent. The question, therefore, is not merely whether Nigeria should have state police. The more important question is this: How do we prevent state police from becoming another instrument of oppression? This concern is neither theoretical nor imaginary.
Many governors already wield enormous influence within their states. In several cases, local governments function largely at their pleasure. State assemblies often operate with limited independence. Political opposition frequently struggles to compete on equal terms. Now imagine placing an armed police force entirely under the authority of such governors. The temptation for abuse would be immense.
Opposition politicians could be harassed under the guise of maintaining public order. Political gatherings could be disrupted. Journalists and critics could face intimidation. Business owners unwilling to align with the government of the day could suddenly find themselves under unusual scrutiny. Elections could become even more uneven than they already are.
In the wrong hands, state police could evolve from a security institution into a political weapon.
Nigeria does not have to search far for historical warnings. Many older Nigerians remember the Native Authority Police of the First Republic. While some performed useful community functions, others became notorious instruments in the hands of regional political strongmen. Stories of harassment, intimidation, politically motivated arrests, and selective law enforcement became common. Their excesses contributed significantly to the eventual push for centralized policing after military intervention.
Even today, accusations of politically motivated arrests, selective prosecution, and the manipulation of law enforcement agencies remain common features of our politics. The fear that state police could amplify such tendencies is therefore not irrational. It is rooted in experience. We have seen too many institutions drift from their original purpose.
Consider the Federal Road Safety Corps. Its creation sprang from a genuine concern. Nigerian roads had become death traps, and the vision behind the agency was noble. Its principal advocate, Professor Wole Soyinka, sought to bring professionalism, order, and safety to our highways. Many lives have undoubtedly been saved through the work of the Corps.
Yet over time, public perception evolved. Complaints about corruption, extortion, bureaucratic overreach, and mission drift began to surface. Whether all such criticisms are fair is beside the point. The larger lesson remains: institutions often end up looking very different from what their founders intended.
This is a familiar Nigerian story. Good ideas frequently arrive wrapped in hope but eventually become entangled in politics, patronage, and weak accountability. That is why the debate about state police must move beyond emotion and urgency into the realm of institutional design. If Nigeria chooses the path of state policing, strong safeguards must be built into the system from the outset.
First, governors must not enjoy unilateral control over appointments and removals. The head of a state police service should be appointed through an independent State Police Commission comprising representatives of the judiciary, civil society, traditional institutions, professional bodies, and security experts. No governor should possess the power to hire or dismiss police leadership at will.
Second, recruitment must be transparent and merit-based. State police should never become an army of party loyalists. Recruitment standards must be nationally regulated and independently monitored to ensure professionalism and diversity.
Third, oversight must exist at multiple levels. Citizens who suffer abuse at the hands of state police should have access not only to state complaint mechanisms but also to federal review bodies and the courts.
Fourth, funding must be insulated from political manipulation. Security personnel whose welfare depends entirely on the goodwill of politicians become vulnerable to both corruption and political misuse.
Fifth, elections should be placed beyond the operational control of state police. During election periods, command authority should shift temporarily to an independent national electoral security framework to prevent partisan deployment.
Sixth, state police should complement—not replace—the national police. The federal police must continue to handle terrorism, organized crime, interstate criminal networks, cybercrime, and offences that transcend state boundaries. The American relationship between local police departments and the FBI offers useful lessons in this regard.
Most importantly, citizens themselves must remain vigilant. No constitutional arrangement, however elegant, can substitute for democratic culture. Institutions become abusive when societies stop demanding accountability. The debate over state police is therefore not merely a debate about security. It is a debate about power.
How much power should be decentralized?
How much should remain at the centre?
How do we empower local authorities without creating local tyrannies?
Those are the questions Nigeria must answer.
The truth is that our current policing arrangement is struggling. Doing nothing is no longer an option. Reform has become a necessity. Yet reform pursued without foresight can create tomorrow’s crisis while attempting to solve today’s emergency.
State police may well be part of Nigeria’s future. Indeed, it may become unavoidable. But if we are to build it, we must build it with our eyes wide open, learning not only from its potential benefits but also from the lessons of our history.
For in Nigeria, the problem has rarely been the absence of good ideas. Our greater challenge has been protecting good ideas from the excesses of those entrusted to implement them.
And that, perhaps, is the real debate before us.
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